𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 | GRISHAVERSE OC FIC

𝟐𝟒

Dionne hated the way the crowds cheered her name.

They chanted a thousand titles that she was supposed to have. That she had thrown away two years ago.

Yet, here she sat. Back in the ring. For better or for worse.

The Curator had given her a new name; Bellona, the Goddess of Bones. The Red Queen. The Harbinger of Death. Here, she was someone to be feared.

Little did they know that the Red Queen had fears of her own.

She shook her head. She was supposed to be fearless here. She would at least act the part.

Dionne– or, rather, Bellona– raised her head. Her wraps were fit securely on her knuckles. The bets had finished rolling in.

This time, her opponent was a huge Fjerdan. A former drüskelle, as rumors claimed. The Breath of the North, they were calling him.

Well, she scoffed to herself. I'll make the Breath of the North draw his final breath.

She raised her fists, but by the time she had, the drüskelle had charged forward. She ducked out of the way easily.

She was much lighter on her feet than he was, she noted. He was heavy-set, and while there were advantages to that in the ring, there were plenty of disadvantages that came packaged with it.

She let her mind go blank and let her fists do the talking.

They traded blows for a while. 5'9 was a respectable height, but this man was far, far taller than she was. She shrugged the blows off; she had fought military types before.

Then was when things got interesting.

He dealt a devastating blow to the stomach.

She stumbled backwards, coughing and reeling while the drüskelle got cocky and bellowed along with the crowd.

Her eyes darted up.

In the crowd was a boy with dark, curly hair, his brown eyes wide with shock.

There was a scar across his nose.

Was that..?

She didn't have time to think. As she got to her feet, the drüskelle knocked her down again, his hand closing around her throat. She choked and gasped, kicking and throwing her hands out wildly.

The referee blew his whistle and declared the match went to the drüskelle. The crowd booed; likely because their money had gone down the drain.

She stumbled to her feet, leaving the ring. Her hands shot up to her bruised throat.

Of course, there would be hell to pay since she lost.

She glanced up at the crowd again.

The boy had disappeared.

She shook her head. Just a figment of her imagination, then.